


so kiss me

by gigi_originally



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, MOAR Pathetic Fallacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi_originally/pseuds/gigi_originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Kiss me down by the broken tree house // Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight // Lift your open hand // You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress</i><br/>- Sixpence None The Richer (lines not quoted in order)</p>
            </blockquote>





	so kiss me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this image](https://31.media.tumblr.com/ce7f4fe7e83fc65878812b7aa154c403/tumblr_inline_n3015loSu71qd1wm5.gif).
> 
> Reads well to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTLnlkrCK8c).

It isn’t meant to happen; not since that first time—the only time—they had brushed lips and hearts together in something _almost_ like love. But it _does_ happen, quietly, suddenly but slowly, in the dim haze of Neverland’s perpetual twilight and the stillness of Wendy’s tree house.

It begins with him, boots shucked at her insistence, sprawled across the pristine sheets of her bed as she puttered about doing goodness-knew-what it is girls did to look busy in the presence of boys who set their skin aflame and their teeth on edge. His eyes flittered about, taking in all the ways she had made the place her own since he had built it for her. That had been years ago, but they don’t care about time. Eventually, he bored of her trinkets in the way he bored of everything else that was not  _her_ .

His eyes, sharp and effortlessly predatory, settled on the delicate slope of her shoulders like a heavy cloak. It weighed on Wendy Darling’s petite frame until it brought her to a complete stop at the foot of her bed. Her hands curled around the bed frame, the hard metal warming under the sweaty palms, Neverland’s pervasive humidity oppressive and leaden with the threat of an uncommon storm.

In secret, Wendy wondered why Peter was upset and why it was so restrained. Peter’s fury was quick and flamboyant—hurricanes crafted from bright skies. To have an upset hang in the sky so long and so obvious was not his way.  She wondered, in the still more secret romantic parts of her guarded heart, if that was why he sought her out. A nebulous hope, unbidden and ill-advised, swelled within her despite her internal protests. Her mind knew better but her heart was a stubborn thing.

This is where it starts: as their eyes lock and the air between them shifts. Wendy knows little of electricity but she feels the charge and spark. She has  _always_ felt the charge and spark. Peter feels it too, like an invisible pull between them. It is never fast or jerky. They are an inexorable, irrefutable,  _patient_ magnetic force. Theirs is an attraction that  _waits_ , that moves in fractions; like a tide that comes lapping softly at the sand until the waves are breaking against the deepest parts of the shore, carving spaces for themselves in ancient rocks.

Peter feels sometimes like the shore, sometimes like the wave. Today, he feels like the shore but he moves to become the wave. He rises to sit without word, gaze unflinching, and holds out a hand, palm up. It is a silent invitation—to what, Wendy does not know. She bites her lip and flutters her eyelids and Peter waits.

Peter is patient. He has waited for Wendy for centuries; he can wait a few more moments.

Wendy is curious. Wendy takes his hand as she always has; as she always will.

She lets her fingers curl into the enveloping warmth of his hand. It is so much larger than her own that sometimes it surprises her. It reminds her, sometimes, that Peter is not just another wicked child but that he is a  _boy_ . He is a boy who makes her heart pound and her breath alternately rush and catch; he makes her cheeks flush and her thighs quake. And there are times when he will turn just so in the right light, shoulders broad and jaw sharp, and her abdomen will clench with an ache that feels almost forbidden.

She remembers talk from her home about it being improper for a young lady to think such thoughts about young men—she knows it is not that which forbids her desire in Neverland. No, what holds her back is the very young man who inspires such dangerous emotions within her.

Peter tugs her down to sit before him. She is so very, very pretty, this girl. He has always thought so. Tinkerbell was pretty too, but in a different way—she has a different kind of appeal that draws in a very different kind of boy. Peter finds Wendy utterly fascinating. He will never say it, never consciously let it be known, but he will never tire of her company. He expected it when she arrived but he did not know what it would be to live it.

Her mouth curves gently, a pretty cupid’s bow begging for his touch, and he raises a hand to appease it. He cups her cheek with his fingers and runs his thumb across the fullness of her lips. He watches them part as he presses down and the flash of her teeth makes him want more. This, her plump bottom lip dragging under the weight of his thumb, is not enough. He licks his own lips and his eyes rise to meet the wide blue of Wendy’s gaze.

“Peter, what—?” she attempts.

“Shhhh,” he hisses.

And that is how it happens.

He leans forward and touches his lips to her open mouth. It is barely a true contact but it is real and it runs through them both like the lightning that breaks the sky outside. Neither notices. Peter’s fingers stay light on Wendy’s jaw but they hold her steady as his hot breath skids across her parted lips and against her teeth.

For Wendy, it is too much and not enough. She kissed Peter once before as a final, desperate bid to remain on the island with the boy she loved. In retrospect, she should never have fallen in the first place but the clarity of hindsight also points out the inevitability of them. So she presses forward, hand coming up to circle his wrist; and she moves her mouth against his. Their lips snag lightly and her throat tightens. Peter pauses then, mouth still lightly pressed to the arch of her upper lip, before pulling away.

When he opens his eyes, Wendy watches him with all the innocence he has tried to destroy and all the desire he has hidden from since last he banished her from his world.

“Damn it,” he mutters and he feels her shiver. His voice is low and raspy, something she has never heard before, and her skin prickles with awareness and appreciation. He watches her flesh as it tightens along her arms and it sends a new thrill through him. It sends blood rushing to all parts of him, hot and heady, and he fists his hand in her hair abruptly, pulling her closer and tilting her head up to his. His eyes search her for something he does not know how to recognize but in his chest there is the constant thump of victory nonetheless.

He grits his teeth and snarls, “Damn it, Wendy, why?”

She blinks at him, little pink tongue darting out to wet her parched lips, and he follows the movement with his eyes, entranced as always, enraptured but unsure.

“I don’t know,” she whispers as her hand slithers up to rest against the column of his throat. “Just...shhh.”’

Then she surges up and sets her mouth against his. They kiss properly this time, eventually falling sideways onto the bed together with their mouths still connected. Wendy lets Peter roll on top of her as the storm outside grows in its intensity. Peter lets her pull him into the space between her legs and wrap her limbs around him like vines. He welcomes it as she opens her mouth beneath his like a flower.

For something that isn’t meant to happen again; it happens quite often after that.


End file.
